his truck were rolled down and the wind made him feel awake and alive. He couldn’t stop smiling. He drove over the Manitoba border just after sunrise, the furthest east he had ever been.
W hile Russell drove, Otto tried to go back to sleep, but couldn’t. So he went to the kitchen and closed his eyes and let his finger fall at random onto one of the recipe cards.
DATE SQUARES
(a.k.a. Matrimonial Cake)
He got out the flour, the sugar, the butter.
T he day after Etta Kinnick’s appearance at Gopherlands, Otto went to meet Russell after school. He had finished giving the cows their drops. Without them their eyes got so dry with dust that the lids stuck together, shut, blinding them. When he put the drops in they cried brown, appreciative tears. They cried and cried, sometimes for hours. It was some time yet until Otto had to supervise dinner’s peeling and chopping, so he had time to walk with Russell. He waited, leaning against the overlapping wood of the school’s siding, along with all the dogs from the various farms that came to meet their masters. He stroked the head of an especially tall golden mixed breed. It was hot, and all the dogs’ tongues hung low and loose out of their dry mouths. Together they all listened to the scraping and gathering of students at the end of their day.
The first one out of the school was Owen. He navigated through the dogs to Otto. Hello, Otto, he said. Missed you today.
Russell was right behind. Otto! he said. This new teacher! This new teacher. . . . Come on, let’s head home now. I want to talk to you, now, away from here a bit. He put a hand on Otto’s shoulder, steered him away.
Okay, okay, said Otto. Let’s go. And then, three steps later, twisting his neck back toward the school, Bye, Owen. See you tomorrow.
Otto, she’s wonderful, said Russell. They were far enough away from the school now, a good hundred meters away. Why didn’t you tell me she was wonderful?
I told you we had a new teacher. I told you she was nice.
Nice isn’t the same as wonderful.
No, I guess not.
I asked so many questions. I’m going to be noticed, Otto. I’m going to read all of the books I can find. I’m going to be the best student she’s had. . . . Otto, don’t you think she’s wonderful?
Otto shrugged. He wasn’t sure, really. Miss Kinnick seemed to be a good teacher. And she had nice calves. But she was a teacher. Their teacher.
I think she’s wonderful, Otto, said Russell. Just that, wonderful.
Shut up, Russell, said Otto. But he was happy. Russell didn’t get excited very often. It was nice to see.
It wasn’t that Otto didn’t know about women, or didn’t like them. He did and he did, he definitely did. At night, trying to fall asleep, his body and mind pulled him between images he’d seen on grainy postcards, and the neighbor when she rode with no saddle, and sweat through printed cotton on women in town on the hottest days, between all that, and the sirens, stomping and shouting on the radio, at night, when his parents didn’t know they all were still awake, still listening. What the noise on the radio meant and where it could lead him, if he let it. Between these two things, he knew that he wanted things quite badly, but still wasn’t exactly sure what.
But, Otto, did you see how she—
Russell, said Otto, interrupting, Miss Kinnick is wonderful, it’s true, yes, and will continue to be, and we can talk about that lots and soon, but, right now, I need your help. I need to steal the radio.
Russell stopped, looked up.
Not for good, just for half an hour or so. I need you to distract Mother so she takes her eyes off of it for just long enough. Just long enough for me to take it and listen properly. Not midnight through floorboards. Really listen. Half an hour. Then I’ll put it right back.
It’s because you want to know about this thing.
Yes.
This thing she doesn’t want us to know.
Yes. But, don’t you? Want to know?
No. Maybe. No, probably
W hile Russell drove, Otto tried to go back to sleep, but couldn’t. So he went to the kitchen and closed his eyes and let his finger fall at random onto one of the recipe cards.
DATE SQUARES
(a.k.a. Matrimonial Cake)
He got out the flour, the sugar, the butter.
T he day after Etta Kinnick’s appearance at Gopherlands, Otto went to meet Russell after school. He had finished giving the cows their drops. Without them their eyes got so dry with dust that the lids stuck together, shut, blinding them. When he put the drops in they cried brown, appreciative tears. They cried and cried, sometimes for hours. It was some time yet until Otto had to supervise dinner’s peeling and chopping, so he had time to walk with Russell. He waited, leaning against the overlapping wood of the school’s siding, along with all the dogs from the various farms that came to meet their masters. He stroked the head of an especially tall golden mixed breed. It was hot, and all the dogs’ tongues hung low and loose out of their dry mouths. Together they all listened to the scraping and gathering of students at the end of their day.
The first one out of the school was Owen. He navigated through the dogs to Otto. Hello, Otto, he said. Missed you today.
Russell was right behind. Otto! he said. This new teacher! This new teacher. . . . Come on, let’s head home now. I want to talk to you, now, away from here a bit. He put a hand on Otto’s shoulder, steered him away.
Okay, okay, said Otto. Let’s go. And then, three steps later, twisting his neck back toward the school, Bye, Owen. See you tomorrow.
Otto, she’s wonderful, said Russell. They were far enough away from the school now, a good hundred meters away. Why didn’t you tell me she was wonderful?
I told you we had a new teacher. I told you she was nice.
Nice isn’t the same as wonderful.
No, I guess not.
I asked so many questions. I’m going to be noticed, Otto. I’m going to read all of the books I can find. I’m going to be the best student she’s had. . . . Otto, don’t you think she’s wonderful?
Otto shrugged. He wasn’t sure, really. Miss Kinnick seemed to be a good teacher. And she had nice calves. But she was a teacher. Their teacher.
I think she’s wonderful, Otto, said Russell. Just that, wonderful.
Shut up, Russell, said Otto. But he was happy. Russell didn’t get excited very often. It was nice to see.
It wasn’t that Otto didn’t know about women, or didn’t like them. He did and he did, he definitely did. At night, trying to fall asleep, his body and mind pulled him between images he’d seen on grainy postcards, and the neighbor when she rode with no saddle, and sweat through printed cotton on women in town on the hottest days, between all that, and the sirens, stomping and shouting on the radio, at night, when his parents didn’t know they all were still awake, still listening. What the noise on the radio meant and where it could lead him, if he let it. Between these two things, he knew that he wanted things quite badly, but still wasn’t exactly sure what.
But, Otto, did you see how she—
Russell, said Otto, interrupting, Miss Kinnick is wonderful, it’s true, yes, and will continue to be, and we can talk about that lots and soon, but, right now, I need your help. I need to steal the radio.
Russell stopped, looked up.
Not for good, just for half an hour or so. I need you to distract Mother so she takes her eyes off of it for just long enough. Just long enough for me to take it and listen properly. Not midnight through floorboards. Really listen. Half an hour. Then I’ll put it right back.
It’s because you want to know about this thing.
Yes.
This thing she doesn’t want us to know.
Yes. But, don’t you? Want to know?
No. Maybe. No, probably
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